


reckless just enough

by SpiritsFlame



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: I wouldn't be 16 again for all the money in the world, M/M, Teenagers, deaging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-24 10:24:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18569491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpiritsFlame/pseuds/SpiritsFlame
Summary: Jamie knows he shouldn't go to see Tyler when he's this angry, when he's still simmering from their fight, but he's never been good at self-control, when it comes to Tyler. He's not expecting to find Tyler as a kid, angry and scared and so instant that he's not a kid anymore. Suddenly, their fight is the last thing on Jamie's mind.





	reckless just enough

**Author's Note:**

> Edited by [werebear](https://archiveofourown.org/users/werebear)
> 
> Title is from "She Used To Be Mine" from Waitress.
> 
> If you found this by googling yourself or someone you know, turn back now! You've been warned!

Jamie is already in a bad mood when he gets to practice. He can tell that it shows, knows at the way everyone is giving him a wide berth as he gears up, and it makes him angrier. He wants to snap at them: he’s not going to _do_ anything, they don’t need to walk on eggshells around him.

Tyler is usually the only one since Jordie left who will try to break the mood, who will either bother Jamie until he lightens up, or distract everyone else so it’s not as noticeable. But, of course, he’s late to practice. Tyler can never take anything seriously, Jamie thinks uncharitably, not even now that he has an A.

Jamie is out first on the ice, skating circles and trying to calm down. And also, he won’t admit, because he doesn’t want to be there when Tyler rolls in, casual and indifferent. Tyler, who won’t care that he’s late. Tyler, who won’t care that they fought last night, who is probably totally fine right now, and not cracking with hurt and anger the way Jamie is.

He doesn’t watch as everyone else comes out, keeping his eyes on the boards—never on his skates, no matter what his mood is— but even he notices when the whistle blows and Tyler still isn’t here.

The anger, which had settled some after a few minutes on the ice, roars to life again, and he has to fight not to let it show on his face. Tyler has fucking _skipped_ practice. He hasn’t even bothered to show up, even though they have a game tonight. Even though he _knows_ it means that he’ll be scratched, that they need him.

He spends the rest of practice simmering, getting angrier as Tyler fails to show up. He wishes that this were a game, that he could drop his gloves and slam someone against the boards and do anything other than sit here in his own anger.

The rest of the team gives him a wide berth as they gear down, but Rads grabs his arm as he starts to head out.

“Don't do anything stupid,” he says, annoyingly calm in the face of Jamie’s anger.

Jamie fights the urge to yank away, to start a fight that Rads definitely doesn’t deserve. Jamie and Tyler don’t fight often, but Rads always makes sure to stay impartial when they do—the only way to make their line survive through any personal drama that comes with being in one another’s pockets for eight months out of the year.

“I know.”

He does know, is the thing. As much as he wants to drive to Tyler’s place and yell at him, he knows it’s not the smart move. They both did their share of yelling last night, and it didn’t do any good.

So he drives home, his hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel.

His resolve lasts until gets to the turnoff between his place and Tyler’s, until he thinks about the fact that Tyler isn’t going to play in the game tonight, because he was irresponsible enough to skip a mandatory practice on gameday.

Tyler had been so apologetic after he missed Jamie’s Art Ross game, had promised he wouldn’t get a healthy scratch like that again, and at the first sign of trouble, he’s bailed again.

He turns left instead of right, and it’s no time at all before he’s pulling into Tyler’s driveway, still simmering. He can hear Rads’ voice, knows that if Jordie were here, he’d say the same, but he doesn’t care.

Jamie pounds on the door, not even bothering with the doorbell. He can hear the dogs inside, barking as soon as he gets to the doorstep. Through the warped glass panels on either side of the door, he can just make out a human silhouette.

“I know you’re in there, Tyler,” he calls. “Open the damn door.”

He stops pounding when he hears the lock slide open, but when the door opens, he has a moment of confusion when he doesn’t see anyone for a split second, until his eyes catch up to what he’s seeing.

At about a foot less than Tyler’s usual eye-level is a boy, no older than sixteen, with dark shaggy hair and bright eyes. He’s wearing a too-big tshirt and basketball shorts, and he’s looking up at Jamie with something like fear in his eyes.

“Who are you?” the boy demands, something belligerent in his tone, the tilt of his chin. It’s all a front, the white-knuckled grip he has on the door and the wobble in his voice betrays him.

Jamie just stares at him, at a loss. If Tyler had a cousin visiting him, he hadn’t mentioned it.

Then Gerry and Cash muscle their way past the boy to rush at Jamie, tails wagging, pressing around him and begging for scratches. Marshall appears as well, but stays with the boy, leaning against his leg.

The boy watches the dogs greet Jamie with wide eyes. “You’re the guy from the pictures,” he says, tone still suspicious, but his grip on the doorframe loosening.

Jamie bends a bit to give Gerry and Cash scratches. “Is Tyler home?” he asks.

The boy scowls at him. “I am Tyler. You still haven’t told me who _you_ are.”

Jamie swallows once, twice. “My name is Jamie Benn. And I think we need to call your mom.”

 

* * *

 

When he gets off the phone with Jackie Seguin ten minutes later, his head is reeling. Apparently, deaging runs in the family. Apparently, it’s happened before. Apparently, it could reverse at any time, and Jamie just has to be careful.

He’d passed the phone back to Tyler, which at least gives him a few minutes while Tyler talks to her, enough for Jamie to sit down on the couch. Marshall has been vigilantly standing guard, not leaving Tyler’s side, but Cash nudges at Jamie’s hand until he scratches the dog’s ears.

“So, I guess you’re my Captain or whatever,” comes the voice from the doorway, and Jamie jerks his head up to see Tyler giving him a baleful, distrusting look.

“That’s right. You’re on the Dallas Stars.”

Tyler shrugs, like he’s indifferent to it, but Jamie can see a pleased smile tug at his lips. “I knew I’d make it,” he says, in a tone that suggests he really didn’t. After a moment, Tyler joins Jamie on the couch and pats the couch on his other side until Gerry jumps up next to him. “My mom says you’re pretty cool.”

Jamie is pretty sure that Jackie wouldn’t say that if she’d seen him and Tyler the way they’d been last night, angry and hurtful. He’s pretty sure he knows what could have caused Tyler to be stressed enough that he lost almost ten years.

“I’m alright,” Jamie says, shrugging. “You’re taking all of this pretty well.”

Tyler scowls, scratching at Gerry’s ears. “I’m 16, I’m not a _baby_.” He spits out the word like it’s dirty, the worst thing he could be.

“I know you’re not,” Jamie says. “You weren’t much older than this when you got drafted.”

Tyler makes that same, pleased expression, and he sits up straighter, subconsciously preening. “Was I drafted for the Stars? Was I first round? I bet I was, wasn’t I?”

He’s such a strange mix of arrogance and vulnerability that Jamie can’t help but be charmed by him, world’s away from the Tyler he knows, with his easy confidence and quick smiles.

“I don’t know if I should tell you, I don’t want to like, mess up the timeline.”

Tyler rolls his eye, derisive in the way only a teenager can be. “It’s not time travel, dude. There is no timeline. I’m just younger. For a bit.” At Jamie’s incredulous look, he shrugs. “It’s happened before. Last time I turned, what, five, I think? This is way better.”

“How old were you, when that happened?” Jamie asks, curious. Tyler’s casual nonchalance about the whole thing is throwing him off. He’s just a _kid_.

“It was about two years ago, when I was on the Young Nationals. I don’t care about that—tell me about my draft day.”

Jamie thinks about trying to put him off again, but he knows that look on Tyler’s face and knows that it won’t do it any good. It’s worth it for the way Tyler’s eyes go wide when he hears how high he was drafted, that the Bruins picked him.

Then, his face falls. “But I’m in Dallas now. Did they,” he bites his lip, “did they trade me?”

He looks, fuck, he looks pretty devastated. Jamie shuffles in his seat, awkward. “Yeah, kid. That’s hockey, sometimes, you know?” He doesn’t want to say anything about the way that Tyler had left Boston, that it was anything other than a standard hockey trade, that the reputation he’d made there had followed him for years afterwards. “But you’re an Alternate Captain on the Stars, and Dallas loves you.”

“Yeah?” Tyler has hope shining in his eyes, and it doesn’t matter that Jamie is still mad at his Tyler. This is a kid, and it’s Tyler, and he can’t bear to let him down.

“Promise,” Jamie says, and Tyler beams at him.

 

* * *

 

Jamie feels weird about leaving Tyler alone, even though Tyler keeps telling Jamie that he’s ‘basically an adult anyway’ and ‘doesn’t need a babysitter,’ so he helps himself to the food in Tyler’s fridge to make them both lunch, and calls Jim to give him the news.

Jim takes it about as well as Jamie could have predicted, which is to say— not very well at all. Jamie hangs up feeling even worse than when he’d started.

“Whowazdat?” Tyler says through a mouthful of turkey sandwich.

“Chew your food,” Jamie chides reflexively, and Tyler flips him off.

It’s easy to laugh at that, easier than dwelling on Jim’s quiet disappointment, or his own frustration. Somehow, Tyler being a brat makes it easier to finish his own lunch. Tyler keeps stealing glances at him, looking away when Jamie catches his at it.

“Were they mad?” Tyler asks once he’d finished, staring down at his empty plate. His tone is soft, and Jamie puts down his sandwich to look at him.

“Were who mad?”

Tyler gestures at the phone. “Was, you know, the team mad? That I can’t play?”

Mad probably isn’t the right word, but Jamie doesn’t have the right ones to give him. Tyler’s eyes are wide in his young face, and he looks strangely fragile in an unfamiliar way.

“It’s always hard when you’re not here to play with us,” Jamie says carefully, trying to pick the right words. “You’re an important part of the team. But they get that it’s not your fault. No one is mad at you, Tyler.”

Tyler taps his fingers on the table, still looking uncomfortable. “The Young Nationals were mad. The last time. They thought I did it on purpose. Besides, no one wanted to look after a baby.” He says the last word like it’s dirty, angrily spitting it out.

Jamie stills Tyler’s fingers before he can think better of it. “We’re not mad. And no one would mind looking after you, even if you turned all the way back to a toddler.”

Tyler gives him an impressively skeptical face, and Jamie replies with his best smile. Tyler goes weirdly splotchy in the face and yanks his hand back from under Jamie’s.

“Yeah, well, whatever,” he mutters, not meeting Jamie’s eyes.

“Tell you what,” Jamie says, standing to put his dishes in the sink, “how about you come to the game tonight? Everyone will be there, and you can see for yourself.”

Tyler’s head jerks up. “Really?”

“Really really.”

Tyler squints at him. “Did you just quote Shrek at me? Dude, that’s like, old by my standards.”

“Shrek is a classic, never let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Tyler rolls his eyes, but it’s better than the lost, vulnerable look he’d had earlier. “Whatever, man.”

 

* * *

 

Jamie wakes up from his nap to the sounds of explosions coming from downstairs. It’s not too unusual for Tyler’s house, so it takes him a moment to remember what’s happened, at which point he has to take a deep breath and prepare himself before leaving the guest bedroom.

Tyler is on the couch, playing what looks like Halo, and he pauses it when Jamie comes in. “Finally up, old man?”

Jamie gives him a playful shove and drops down onto the couch. “I’m only two years older than you.”

“Not right now you’re not.” Then. “Oh my god, _I’m_ old.”

The horror on his face, the thought of what his Tyler would say if he heard that, the sheer indignation in his voice, it’s too much. Jamie drops his head back and laughs, long and hard. It helps, in it’s own way, leaking out some of the tension with it.

When he’s done, Tyler is just staring at him. His mouth quirked up in a familiar smile, the look he gets when he he doesn’t quite get the joke, but his eyes are wider, and he has the same blotchy flush spreading down his neck.

“Something on my face?” Jamie teases.

To his surprise, Tyler doesn’t tease back, just drops his eyes and looks mortified. “Just your stupid beard,” he mutters, half-hearted at best.

“If you think my beard is stupid, you should see the one you’re rocking right now.”

That gets Tyler’s head up. “I have a beard?”

“Didn’t you google yourself?”

Tyler shrugs. “Can’t figure out the password to the computer.”

Right, because he’s an infant. “What about your phone?”

“You can’t google shit on a phone,” Tyler scoffs.

Jamie grins. “Kid, I am about to blow your mind.”

He pulls out his own phone, and Tyler makes a face at it. “I already saw that earlier when we called Mom. It’s so huge, like, from the 80s.” Like he knows anything about 80s phones. “The one I have a way better, it’s only like, this big.” He gestures with his hands and, if he knows Tyler at all, exaggerating how small it is in the process, then adds, like a trump card, “And, it flips!”

He smirks up at Jamie, like he’s just delivered a soulcrushing debate, and Jamie loses it again. It takes him a minute to get it together enough to talk, because he keeps looking at Tyler’s indignant face and cracking up again.

“No, you’re right,” he manages to get out. “Your flip phone is some hightech shit.”

Tyler gives him a scathing look. “Whatever, old man. Let me see my wiki!” He makes gimme hands until Jamie moves closer so he can unlock the phone and show Tyler how to use the apps.

Tyler ends up taking the phone from him and moving away, edging down the couch in a way he probably thinks is subtle. Jamie thinks about giving him shit about that too, but decides against it. It might be Tyler, but it’s not his best friend, not the man he’s spent over five years getting to know and—well.

“Dude!” Tyler jumps to his feet. “Dude!!” He holds the screen of the phone towards Jamie, but he’s practically vibrating in place, making it impossible to read. “You didn’t tell me that I _won the fucking Stanley Cup_!”

And. It’s not like Jamie forgot about that, of course he hasn’t. But Tyler never talks about it, and he’d been covering up his Cup tattoo for years and— it doesn’t feel like it’s part of his Tyler. It’s something that belongs to the Tyler-that-was and not Tyler-that-is. But then, the Tyler in front of him is closer in age to that Tyler than to the Tyler Jamie knows.

“You won at Worlds too,” he says, because it’s easier than trying to put everything he feels about that into words. Tyler makes an incoherent noise and scrolls further down on the phone.

He keeps his head buried in the phone even as Jamie manages to sheppard him out the door, reading in the car and occasionally asking Jamie questions like “So are Crosby and I like, bros?” and “Wait, that was _Mike Modano’s house_?”

When they get back to Jamie’s place, Jamie has to rush through getting dressed in his suit and getting his stuff into his car. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Tyler loose in his house, he just… doesn’t trust Tyler loose in his house.

When he gets back downstairs, shirt mostly unbuttoned and tie slung over his neck, untied, Tyler is studying the pictures on the mantle. “Is that your brother?” he asks, turning. When he catches sight of Jamie, his eyes go wide and surprised.

Jamie looks down at himself reflexively. There’s nothing spilled on his suit, and he’s even wearing one of his nicer ties, because he anticipates a long media scrum when Tyler Seguin shows up as a scratch on the roster. “What?”

Tyler shakes his head and jerks his head back around to the mantle. The back of his neck is red. “Nothing.” He reaches out to indicate one of the pictures. “We’re pretty close.”

Jamie comes up behind him. He’s pointing to one of Jamie’s favorite pictures of the two of them, mid-celly, both of them screaming in each others faces. It makes Jamie smile whenever he sees it.

“You’re my best friend,” he says honestly.

“Cool,” Tyler mumbles, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “That’s pretty cool.”

He’s quiet on the way to the AAC, going through more stuff on Jaime’s phone. He doesn’t ask any questions this time. Finally, halfway there, “Am I dating anyone?”

It’s a typical teenage boy question, but the tone throws Jamie off, unusually vulnerable. It makes him pause before answering, wracking his brain for the last time Tyler had a serious relationship and drawing a total blank.

“Not that I know of,” he says, careful.

“But you’d know, right?” Tyler asks. “If you’re my best friend. I’d have told you.”

“You don’t date much,” Jamie says honestly. “But girls love you. You’re always bringing women home from bars.” That’s something most teenage boys care about, right?

It doesn’t seem to cheer Tyler up, though. “Oh.”

Jamie shoots a look over at him. He looks pretty miserable over there, nothing like the Tyler Jamie knows. Nothing like the Tyler who said that settling down was for suckers, who said “Don’t let me marry anyone” to his mom, laughter in his voice.

“Did you, uh, want to be dating someone?” he asks.

Tyler shrugs. “I mean. I thought when I was old—that I would have, I dunno. Someone. You know?”

Jamie does, in fact, know. He knows all too well, but the last few years of his life have been tied up in wanting someone who won’t ever want him back.

He can’t say any of that to Tyler, of all people, so he just says, “You’re not that old. You’ve got time.”

Tyler leans his head on the glass, watching the Dallas skyline go by. “Yeah. I guess.” After a moment. “I really haven’t said anything? We haven’t talked about my, my type?” He stutters over the last few words.

They’re veering directly into the stuff that Jamie doesn't like to talk about. But this isn’t his Tyler, confident and gorgeous. This Tyler is all arms and legs and hair. He’s probably cute, by teenage standards, but not the heart-stopping man he’ll grow into. He’s small and vulnerable, and Jamie would bear a lot of things for Tyler’s sake.

“You said you like girls with,” he clears his throat, uncomfortable. “With big, you know. Breasts.”

Tyler snorts. “Yeah, I bet I did,” he says, and he sounds disgusted.

They’re pulling into the AAC, and Jamie is running out of time. “You’ve got a great life here, you know? The team loves you, the city loves you.” He’s never been good at the rallying speeches, that’s was always Tyler’s job. “I couldn’t do this without you, you know?” But of course, he doesn’t. This Tyler has no way to know, can’t possible imagine all the ways in which he’s shaped Jamie’s life.

Tyler gives him a smile, small but sincere. “Thanks, man.” He gives Jamie an awkward punch in the shoulder, overly macho in a way that reminds Jamie of those early years.

 

* * *

 

The team, at least, takes Tyler’s sudden change better than Jim had. Bishop looks like he wants to adopt Tyler then and there, and Rads keeps ruffling his hair and saying he must not be eating enough.

Tyler bears it all with a weary resignation that’s betrayed by the grin he keeps fighting down. It’s clear that having the team fawn over him is cheering him up in a way Jamie’s words hadn’t— which doesn’t bother him. Tyler’s never cared about Jamie’s opinion before, why should now be any different?

After introductions are done, Tyler wanders over to his own stall, tracing over the nameplate with reverent fingers. Jamie remembers the feeling, the impossibility of being in the NHL, eighteen and terrified with it. He can’t even imagine that feeling at Tyler’s age.

Tyler gets swallowed up by the WAGs once the coaches come in, and it’s weird to watch him go, to know that there won’t be any handshake at the end of the line, none of the good luck rituals between the two of them that Jamie has come to treasure.

He pushes the thought out of his mind and gets out his tape. They have a game to play.

 

* * *

 

It’s stupid to want to show off for Tyler, but he does. He keeps looking over to where Tyler is sitting, and each time he finds Tyler already looking at him. When Jamie scores in the second, he swears he can hear Tyler’s voice, carrying above everyone else’s.

 

* * *

 

 

They win, and Tyler comes out of fucking nowhere to race into the locker room after the game, flushed and beaming as if he’d just skated every shift himself.

“That was fucking—that was amazing! You were all, I can’t believe this gets to be my team!” he says, practically shouting. He rounds on Jamie, “That goal was fucking _filthy_ , how did you even— and when you hit the guy, and he went down? Wow.”

Jamie wouldn’t trade his Tyler for anything, but he finds himself wishing that some it carried over, that his Tyler could keep some of this reverence, this awe. That his Tyler could look at him like he’s Wayne Gretsky.

“What about me, Seggy?” Klinger says, draping an arm over Tyler’s shoulder. “Didn’t you like my goal?”

“Yeah, yeah, it was fine,” Tyler replies dryly, putting his hand on Klinger’s face and pushing him away. “Get off me, you smell.”

“He only cares about Chubs!” Bishop calls, and everyone laughs.

“Nothing new,” Rads says.

Tyler turns to Jamie, both eyebrows raised. “Chubs?”

Jamie shrugs in a ‘what can you do’ kind of way, because he’s not going to the whole thing with Tyler. Especially Tyler at sixteen, already showing the beginnings of good looks and wouldn’t understand what it was like to have an awkward phase. An awkward decade, honestly.

“If you want to leave, you’ll have to give me a few minutes,” he says, stripping off the rest of his gear. “I probably smell too.”

He emerges from his under armour to see Tyler looking anywhere else. “Yeah,” Tyler says, voice breaking. “Cool. I’m gonna,” he jerks his thumb over his shoulder, and leaves as quickly as he’d come in.

Jaime looks around, baffled, to find the rest of the team poorly hiding grins. “What the hell was that about?”

Rads and Bishop exchange a look, but it’s Zucc who answers. “Just Tyler being Tyler.”

“I remember being that age,” Bishop says, and his tone makes it clear he doesn’t miss it. “I don’t envy him.”

“And with all that in front of him,” Klinger says, gesturing at Jamie. Someone hoots, and Jamie scowls.

“Oh, fuck off,” he says, and gets in the shower.

 

* * *

 

Tyler is slouching outside the locker room when Jamie emerges, and he flushes bright red when he sees Jamie.

“You okay?” Jamie asks, stepping in close. “You look flushed. Is that part of the de-aging thing?”

Tyler bats his hand away, face getting even darker. “I’m fine!” he says, voice cracking right down the middle.

Jamie has to bite his lip not to laugh, because he remembers being this age too and it was bad enough without being surrounded by adults laughing at you.

“You’ll tell me if you start feeling weird though, right?”

“Yeah, whatever,” Tyler mumbles, which is probably the best he’s going to get.

“Well, let’s head home then.” He sets off without waiting for an answer, trusting that Tyler will follow him.

“You’re not going out with the team?” Tyler demands. “You guys won! You could like, go drink and stuff.”

“Nah. I gotta get you home.”

Tyler scowls, visible even in his peripheral vision. “I’m not a baby!”

“Maybe I’m tired, did you think of that? After all, I am soooo old.”

Tyler doesn’t reply, and Jamie turns to look at him, expecting a sarcastic reply. Tyler is still slightly flushed, and he looks away when Jamie looks at him. “You’re not that old, I guess,” Tyler mumbles. “You still play hockey good. And you’re all,” he gestures at Jamie.

“All?” Jamie prompts, when Tyler trails off.

“All like, big. And whatever. You could probably get anyone you wanted. If you went out.”

Which is flattering, but staggeringly untrue. Jamie slings an arm over Tyler’s shoulder, tugging him in close to his side. “Thanks, kid. You’re not so bad yourself.”

“Oh my god, get off.” Tyler shoves him, not hard enough to move him if Jamie didn’t want to be moved. Jamie lets himself sway into it, and drags Tyler with him. Tyler squawks in protest, and Jamie just laughs, feeling lighter than he has in weeks.

 

* * *

 

Tyler looks surprised when they pull into his driveway and not Jamie’s. “Are you dropping me off?” he asks.

“Nope. You have the dogs, so I’ll stay here.”

“I told you, I don’t need—”

“I’m staying, deal with it,” Jamie says in his Captain voice. His Tyler usually laughs at him when he uses it in conversation, but this Tyler goes immediately quiet, dropping his gaze to his lap. It’s weird, almost uncomfortable, and Jamie feels a bit bad about it, but doesn’t apologize. He didn’t actually do anything wrong.

He helps Tyler feed the dogs and ends up going with him on the walk. Tyler is quiet and a bit sulky at his side, which isn’t as unfamiliar as Jamie would like. Tyler can get stuck in a sulk like the best of them, but the difference is that Jamie usually knows what to do or say to bring him out of it. He doesn’t know what to do or say with Tyler at this age.

“What’s up?” he asks finally.

Tyler gives him a sideways look and shrugs. “Nothing. Just thinking.”

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Jamie chirps, and Tyler at least smiles again.

They fall into silence for another block before Tyler blurts out, “It’s just not what I thought, you know?”

“The NHL?”

Tyler shrugs again. “I mean, that’s pretty cool. Just, being an adult.”

Jamie jostles Tyler with his arm, a little awkward with a much more pronounced height difference. Tyler must have shot up like a weed when he was 17, Jamie’s pretty sure he wasn’t this short at the draft. “It never is.”

Jamie had never expected to be an NHL captain, to be in love with a teammate, to still be single at almost 30. It’s a mixed bag, good and bad and everything in between.

Tyler keeps his eyes fixed on his feet, and his next words come out in a crazy rush, “I always thought, once I won the Cup, I’d come out.”

Jamie trips over his own feet and almost goes down. Cash, sensing weakness, makes a dash for a squirrel and the resulting scramble takes a few minutes to sort out. When Jamie gets his feet under him again, Tyler is still staring at his feet, face so red that Jamie can almost feel the heat he’s putting out.

“Coming out like,” Jamie trails off.

Tyler gives him a dirty look, undercut by the way his hair falls into his eyes, the baby-softness to his face. “What do you think, Benn?” he snaps, but his voice wavers. It’s so easy to see the fear under the anger.

When they’d fought the other day, Tyler’s voice had wavered in the same way, before he’d said that Jamie was boring and it was no wonder he couldn’t keep a girlfriend, since Tyler couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to spend so much time with him.

He wonders, now, what Tyler had been afraid of.

“That’s, uh,” he clears his throat, not sure how to respond. Tyler’s flush has faded to a shocking pallor, and his hand has gone white-knuckled around the leashes. “That’s cool.”

“Yeah?” Tyler asks, not looking at him.

“Yeah.”

Tyler snorts. “It kinda sucks, actually.”

Jamie doesn’t know if Tyler will remember any of this, but suddenly it doesn’t matter. Tyler has offered up a vulnerable spot, presented it to Jamie with trembling hands, and Jamie can’t do anything less. “It really does.”

It takes Tyler a minute to get it, but when he does, he whips around to look at Jamie so quickly that Jamie is a bit worried about whiplash. “You mean—are you?”

“Yeah,” Jamie says, keeping it casual. His voice doesn't shake, but it feels like it should. His heart is racing, his palms gone damp around the leash.

“Oh.” Then. “Cool.”

Jamie snorts, and nudges him again. After a moment, Tyler nudges him back.

 

* * *

T

he rest of the walk is quiet, Jamie turning over all the implications of what Tyler had said, and Tyler presumably lost in his own thoughts. The dogs go straight to their water bowls when they get in, and Jamie helps Tyler locate his cell phone.

Tyler looks a bit disappointed when he sees that his own phone is even bigger than Jamie’s, but he’s at least suitably impressed when it opens to his fingerprint. Jamie had been a bit worried it wouldn’t, that size or age would have changed his print too much. But then, Tyler already has large hands and feet, oversized for his body like a puppy.

Tyler makes a noise when the phone boots up, then turns it to show Jamie. The lock screen is a picture of the three dogs, but the home screen is the same picture Jamie has in his living room, Tyler and Jamie in a celly together, happy and victorious.

“It’s a good picture,” Jamie says, but his stomach is doing flips on itself, and he doesn't know how to feel. It is a good picture, but this feels like more than that, and he doesn't know what to do with it.

Tyler puts the phone down and turns to Jamie. “I never told you I was gay?”

It hits Jamie right in the gut, to hear it laid out like that, no equivocation, no euphemisms. “I had no idea.” Tyler makes a disgusted noise, and Jamie frowns at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” Tyler says, and his tone makes it clear he doesn’t want to talk about it.

Jamie pushes anyway, because he and Tyler have always pushed one another, usually for the better. “Doesn’t sound like nothing.”

“Obviously it’s not!” Tyler snaps, getting to his feet. “But you’re supposed to fucking drop it, jesus Benn.”

He’s shaking, and Jamie can’t help but feel for him, young and out of his depth. He reaches out to pull Tyler into a hug before he can think better of it, and Tyler melts into his, pressing his face into Jamie’s chest.

He’s making little hiccuping sounds, but he’s not crying, and Jamie curls his arm over Tyler’s shoulder, feeling broken open with affection and helplessness.

They stand there for almost a minute, Tyler breathing into the fabric of Jamie’s shirt, before Tyler shoves him away. It’s not gentle, and almost rocks Jamie back. Tyler has gone a blotchy red again, and he won’t meet Jamie’s eyes.

Jamie wants to ask why, wants to press again, before his eyes catch on a very clear reason _why._ Tyler sees him looking, makes an aborted move to cover himself, then turns on his heels and bolts for the bedroom.

Jamie thinks about following him, and decides against it. It’s almost midnight, it was a long game—a long day, and he doesn’t have the energy for it.

He has to keep reminding himself that it means nothing. That Tyler is 16 and apparently gay, and Jamie remembers what that was like. A stiff breeze was a turn-on at that age; it wasn’t personal.

Not that it would matter, either way. Tyler is 16 and scared, and Tyler at 26 can do so much better than Jamie. Has never shown an indication of wanting Jamie, and never will. Jamie’s been looking enough, he would know if Tyler had ever looked back.

 

* * *

 

Tyler doesn’t answer Jamie’s knock when Jamie has to leave for early practice, and Jamie isn’t sure if he’s too embarrassed or just asleep, and Jamie doesn’t have time to coax him out either way.

He half hopes that if he just leaves, Tyler will be back to normal. Now that his anger has faded, Jamie probably has some apologies to make. Tyler had said some hurtful things, but so had Jamie. And, arguably, Jamie had started it, had been looking for a fight when he’d gone over to Tyler’s that night.

In Tyler’s absence, it’s easy to see that Tyler hadn’t meant most of the things he’d said. That Jamie might be boring, but Tyler probably likes that about him. That Jamie can’t be too hard to be around, since Tyler is the one always inviting him over, and Tyler is in his space more than anyone else—including his last two girlfriends.

It does suck to tell the team that there is no news, and he snaps and Rads when he pushes too hard. He apologizes for it later, but still feels bad.

Bishop corners him after practice. “Hey. How’s the kid doing?”

Jamie shrugs. “As good as be probably can be?”

Bishop claps him on the shoulder. “It’s good you’re looking after him.” He grins, snickering to himself, “even if it probably makes it worse for him.”

Jamie pulls back, stung. “What does that mean?”

Bishop stares at him, incredulous. “You’re joking, right?” At Jamie’s expression, he says, “Chubs, he’s got a monster crush on you. He can barely _look_ at you without going red.”

“That’s just, being 16.”

Bishop rolls his eyes. “I mean, yeah, part of it. Segs isn’t usually _this_ bad. But it also can’t be easy to be like, a teenage and constantly around your older, hotter, NHL Captain crush. You gotta give the kid a break.”

“I. No. What. What do you mean _this_ bad?”

“Oh, Jamie,” Bishop sighs. He claps Jamie on the arm again. “You’ll get there.”

He walks off, leaving Jamie to stare at his back, indignant. “What does that even mean?” he shouts after him. Bishop just gives him a sarcastic wave without looking back. “Fucking goalies,” Jamie mutters to himself.

 

* * *

 

When Jamie gets back to Tyler’s place, Tyler is still 16, and sitting at the kitchen table, flipping through his phone. Older-Tyler’s phone. God, it’s weird.

Tyler’s head jerks up when Jamie lets himself in, even though the dogs must have given him away.

“Oh. You’re back.”

“Yes?”

Tyler ducks his head. “I just didn’t—I figured you’d want to go back to your own place.” He smiles, self-deprecating and too-familiar. “Not want to hang out with a kid.”

“I thought you weren’t a kid,” Jamie chirps, going to the fridge and pulling out ingredients for a turkey sandwich.

“Well, yeah, I’m _not_. I’m just not, you know, old. Like you.”

“Yeah, that hurts,” Jamie says sarcastically. “Talk to me when you can grow facial hair.”

“Fuck you,” Tyler replies.

It’s nothing that Tyler wouldn’t say to Jamie on any other day, but Jamie can’t help think of Bishop, and Jamie has to cut back on his instinctive reply because Tyler is _16_.

He bypasses it entirely by dropping a sandwich down in front of Tyler and joining him at the table. “What’re you looking at?” He gestures the the phone with his own sandwich.

Tyler looks down at it, face going more serious. “Are you ever like—” he trails off, biting his lip. “We’re friends, right?”

Jamie takes the time to finish chewing, because the look on Tyler’s face is serious. He looks like the answer could break him. “Yeah. We are. Best friends.”

Tyler just stares down at his plate. After a moment, he picks up his own sandwich and eats in slow, mythodical bites. Jamie watches him carefully, but when he doesn’t say anything else, Jamie decides not to press.

When Tyler finishes, he spends another minute just looking at his plate. “Am I a good person?” he asks Jamie, voice serious.

Jamie, mid-sip, chokes on his water. “ _What_?”

“It’s just, I was going through the phone,” Tyler says. “And I don’t know if—it’s not who I wanted to be.”

Out of instinct, Jamie reaches out to grab Tyler’s hand, and Tyler’s gaze jerks up to him, eyes wide.

“Tyler, you are, fuck, you’re one of the best people I’ve ever met. I don’t know what you saw on your phone, if it was stuff from the trade, or just what people say online, but _fuck_ them. You’re—you set up your own charity, you do so much fo kids in Dallas. You’re always the one who inspires the team when we’re down in points. Fuck, you light up every room you’re in.”

God, he hopes Tyler doesn’t remember any of this when he’s bigger. At 16, he’s probably too young to recognize it, but any adult would know a love confession when they hear it.

Tyler’s face is red again, and he looks like he’s about to cry. He pulls his hand away from Jamie’s to swipe at his face.

“We fought, didn’t we? Before all this happened.”

Jamie bites his lip. “Yeah, we did. Sometimes friends fight, Ty. Especially when they’re around each other as much as we are.”

“He’s sorry,” Tyler says, and his voice is wavering like he really might cry. “He’s so sorry. He thinks you hate him.”

“I—do you remember?” Jamie asks, not even sure how to deal with the rest of it.

Tyler pushes the phone towards him. It’s open to a conversation with Brownie, and Jamie sees enough to get the gist before he pushes it back. It feels like eavesdropping, intruding on something private. If it’s something Tyler wants him to know, Tyler can tell him when he gets back.

“Just because we fight, just because I was mad at him, it doesn’t mean we’re not friends.” When Tyler still won’t look at him, Jamie pulls his chair closer. “I was worried about him, you know? We were supposed to meetup, and he just— didn’t show up. It was almost a whole day, and I didn’t hear anything. And I found out online that he was at some club. I was mad, because it was stupid and thoughtless, but I was also mad because I’d been worried, you know?” He curls an arm over Tyler’s small shoulders.

Tyler turns into it, putting his head into Jamie’s chest like he’d done the night before. “I hate him,” he says into Jamie’s shirt. It breaks Jamie’s heart, hearing Tyler talk about himself like that. “I hate him, he’s so stupid.”

“What makes you say that?” Jamie asks.

“He’s a bad friend. I never told you I was gay, and I blew you off, and I see all this stuff online, all this bullshit stuff.”

“Hey,” Jamie pushes Tyler away to look into his face. “First rule of the internet, never read the comments. Second rule of the internet—don’t google yourself.” Tyler had been the one to tell him that, had taken Jamie’s phone away from him that first summer, when they got knocked out of the playoffs and Jamie had almost made himself sick reading about it.

“He’s a _coward_ ,” Tyler spits, pulling out of Jamie’s hold completely. “He—god. I was supposed to have come _out_ by now. I was supposed to have stopped lying. Instead, he’s going to fucking clubs and talking about, about women with big boobs! He’s fucking,” he holds up the phone, waving it in Jamie’s face, “fucking in love with you! And he’s so—he’s fucking BLOWING it. He’s never,” the fight drains out of Tyler suddenly, wrapping his arms around himself. “I’m never going to be the kind of person someone like you can love. And I hate it.”

“Tyler...” Jamie says, reaching out to touch him.

Tyler jerks away. “Don’t touch me.”

Jamie pulls his hands in, tucks them in his pockets for safety. “Tyler, I’m sorry that you, uh, that you think that? But, well, it’s not like that. If you, I mean, if you’re,” fuck, god, he wants to be anywhere else in the world, “if you think I’m. Um. It’s just because you’re 16 and I’m the one looking after you. You don’t feel like that now.”

Tyler scoffs, “Yeah, I’m not in love with you dude. I mean, you’re all,” he gestures at Jamie, ears going red, “but you’re like, 30. But this guy,” he indicates the phone, “he wants to like, marry you and have your gay babies.”

Jamie mouths ‘gay babies’ to himself as Tyler steamrollers on. “It just fucking sucks that I’m going to grow up to be this guy. Who’s fucking gone on a teammate who is so far out of my league.”

Jamie holds up a hand, trying to reel his thoughts in. “I’m out of _his_ league?”

“Yeah, don’t be stupid. That’s what sucks so much. I mean, I don’t want you to love _me,_ I’m like, 16 and thats definitely a crime. Well. Maybe. We are in Texas.”

“Tyler,” Jamie snaps, cutting that thought off as quickly as humanly possible.

“Right. I just mean like. I want to be someone who is like, worthy. Of someone like you. Eventually. And I won’t get that. It sucks.”

Jamie takes a step towards him, and Tyler takes a step back, making Jamie freeze. “First of all,” Jamie falters. He doesn’t even know where to start. Tyler is 16, and has no idea what their relationship is really like. Has built up some kind of fiction about himself and Jamie. And despite himself, Jaime doesn't entirely want to break it. Wants to keep ahold of the way Tyler thinks of him. Like Jamie is someone worth earning, someone even remotely in Tyler’s league.

“First all of all,” Jamie tries again. “Tyler definitely doesn’t feel that way about me, so you’re clear.”

Tyler snorts. “Yeah, okay. I have access to the internet. I saw his interviews.”

“He’s _not,”_ Jamie insists. “And even if he were—I’m not out of his league. If I thought I had a chance, even a little, I’d go for it.” It’s terrible, terrifying, to be this honest about it, when only Jordie knows. To tell it all to a teenager, even if that teenager is Tyler.

“Yeah fucking right.” Tyler snaps. “You don’t have to lie to me.”

“I’m not lying.”

“Whatever,” Tyler says, turning away.

“And even if that were true—which it’s not—Tyler, I don’t. You’re so, so great. I wouldn’t trade my Tyler for a hundred other Tylers.”

“Whatever,” Tyler says again, voice shaking. “I’m going my room.” He clicks his fingers for the dogs, and all but runs up the stairs.

Jamie watches him go, feeling like he was hit by a truck. He slumps down onto the couch and just stares at the blank tv. He doesn’t even know where to go from here.

 

* * *

 

In the end, he goes up to the spare room he’d claimed as his over two years ago, and takes a nap. Tyler doesn’t answer when he knocks, but the door to the bedroom is locked. He’d tried forcing it, half-heartedly and without real force, and Tyler had told him to fuck off.

So.

He doesn’t get any sleep, just plays over the way that Tyler had said “he’s fucking in love with you” and “I’m never going to be the kind of person someone like you can love.”

His phone alarm tells him when he has to leave for the game and he tries Tyler’s door again, and gets another rude answer.

It feels weird to go alone, to know that they’re playing a game on home ice and Tyler won’t even be in the building. Even when he’s injured, or scratched, or any number of things, Tyler never misses a game at home.

It’s even worse tonight than it had been last night. Jamie can’t give anyone a good answer about where Tyler is, and they’re all feeling his absence. Jamie does his best at one of Tyler’s speeches, but it falls flat.

 

* * *

 

They lose, and it fucking sucks.

It always sucks to lose at home, but it feels ever worse than usual. He can’t help but think of Tyler, watching the game at home and wondering why he’d ever gotten traded to a team like this.

He’d wanted to show Tyler that the Stars were a team worth being on. A team worth loving.

He wants to just go to his own home, and let the stress of a loss bleed out of him. But he thinks of Tyler’s face, on the verge of tears and sure that Jamie hated him. Asking if he was a bad person.

And Jamie can’t leave him alone.

 

* * *

 

He wakes up the next morning with Cash on his chest. When Jamie looks at him, Cash gives him a doggy grin and wags his tail.

“Hey boy,” Jamie says softly, scratching his ears. Cash is too big to comfortably lay on top of someone, but Jamie doesn’t mind. “Is your dad done sulking?”

Tyler’s door had still been closed when Jamie got back, holed up with all three dogs. If Cash is out here, he must have at least opened it at some point.

Reluctantly, still sore from a chippy game last night, he nudges Cash off of him and gets out of bed. No explosions from downstairs this time, but if he’s pretty sure he hears a faint clattering. About halfway down the stairs, he hears a crash and a loud swear.

“Tyler?”

He steps into the kitchen and goes still. It’s strange how, after only three days, his own Tyler looks strange to him now. His hair isn’t too much shorter than it had been at 16, but he knows what to do with it now, a stylish cut instead of a careless mop. His beard looks more full after three days of his face without it.

And then Tyler looks up to see him, and the way his face goes red is exactly the same. “Oh. Hi, Jamie.” He looks back down to a small stack of tupperware at his feet, presumably the cause of the crash, then clearly makes a decision to ignore it. “Did you want eggs?” He indicates to a plate by the stove, still steaming.

“Sure.” Jamie hasn’t felt this awkward at Tyler’s house since the first week they knew one another. Back when he didn’t know how easily Tyler would slot into his life.

Silently, Tyler grabs an extra plate and scrapes half the eggs onto it, then grabs a thing of ketchup from the fridge. He drops it all down in front of Jamie without even his usual chirp about the amount of ketchup Jamie puts on them.

“So,” Tyler starts, staring at his own plate. “Thanks for, you know, looking after me.”

“It wasn’t hard.”

Tyler gives him a flat look, and it’s startling to see how much it resembles the look he’d made at 16 before he rolled his eyes or scoffed in Jamie’s face. “I was a little monster, don’t lie.”

“Hey,” Jamie says, unexpectedly stung. “Tyler, don’t say that.”

“Come on, Jamie.” Tyler’s mouth is twisted up in a smile and Jamie hates it. Hates that it doesn’t reach his eyes. Hates that sometime between 16 and 26, Tyler learned to put a smile over a hurt spot and tried to pretend like it didn’t exist. “You were there.”

“Yeah, I was,” Jamie says. “You were 16, Tyler. You weren’t a bad kid. You were just, you know, a kid.”

Tyler shrugs, achingly familiar. “I wanted to say sorry.”

“You don’t—”

“Not for the kid stuff. For all the shit I said. I was just—there was other stuff going on, I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

“I said some shit too,” Jamie says. “I don’t think either of us were at our best.”

“Still. I’m sure—well. You didn’t deserve half the shit I said.”

There’s something in the twist of his mouth, the angle of his chin, in every familiar line of his face, that makes Jamie’s breath catch, and he reaches for Tyler’s hand before he can think better of it. “Neither did you.”

Tyler stares at Jamie’s hand on his. “Come on, Jamie,” he says again, but it comes out hoarse and dry.

“The things you said, when you were a kid.”

Tyler stands up abruptly, pulling his hand away and it’s all so, so familiar. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Even if Jamie hadn’t seen Tyler’s tells writ large on a younger face, he would know this one. “Yeah, you do.”

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Tyler says. “We can just forget about it. He was 16, and stupid, and didn’t know what he was talking about.”

Jamie takes a step into Tyler’s space, where Tyler has allowed him before. Tyler swallows, and doesn’t step back, more defiance than acceptance.

“He seemed like a smart kid to me. Even if he didn’t like you very much.”

Tyler scoffs, “Shocker.”

“You don’t seem that different to me,” Jamie says, words falling quiet into the space between them. He turns Tyler’s face to his, lets Tyler see his eyes. Tries to put everything he’s never been able to say into them. “You both want to do the right thing. You have the same smile,” he brushes his thumb over the edges of Tyler’s mouth, feels it under his fingertip when Tyler draws in a sharp breath. “You both love dogs, and hockey. And…” he can’t finish, it feels too impossible, too daring to say.

“Say it,” Tyler says, turning his head into Jamie’s hand.

“Me,” Jamie breathes. “You both love me.”

Tyler closes his eyes, like taking a blow, but doesn’t pull away. “We both know you’re out my league.”

Jamie wants to laugh, but the moment feels too fragile. He tips forward, “You’re both wrong,” and takes Tyler’s lips with his.

It’s nothing like he’d imagined. He’d always imagined how Tyler would kiss, fierce and wild, hand in Jamie’s hair, their hips pressed together, slamming into walls and tables and doors.

This is better. It’s delicate, tender, careful. It’s about love.

Tyler breaks away first, breath coming heavy in his chest. “I can’t believe my dipshit younger self outed me like that.”

“Hey, I liked that dipshit.”

Tyler rolls his eyes, but he can’t help the grin fighting over his face. “You fucking would.”

“He was you,” Jamie says. “Of course I liked him.”

“Ugh, gross,” Tyler laughs, and pulls Jamie into another kiss. Jamie lets him, unable to stop grinning.

He meant what he told Tyler. A hundred other versions of this man, and he would choose this one every fucking time.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Congrats to the Stars for making it to Round 2 of the Playoffs!


End file.
